


Say Yes To The Dress

by grumpynymph



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Dress shop AU, M/M, R.I.P Waylon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:05:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpynymph/pseuds/grumpynymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon Park is roped into being a model for an eccentric designer that takes a liking to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The dress shop wasn’t his first choice.

Hell no.

However, not many companies were jumping to hire a skinny 18 year old, blind as a bat without his wide rimmed glasses in a run down Minnesotan small town. So, when the sign went up behind the shiny glass reading ‘Now Hiring,’ Waylon nearly broke a leg sprinting towards the freshly painted door. One meeting with a smartly dressed man who seemed as if he would rather be anywhere else, glancing at the small clock on the wall of the back room every 15 seconds as if he was afraid he may catch something from the boy if he stayed too long, and he had the job. A cashier at a bridal boutique. He couldn’t say he was thrilled, but rent was rapidly approaching and he wasn't sure how long it would be until the fund's from Miles's last big story ran short.

A scribbled plastic name tag, a contract, and a shift sign up sheet were shoved into his hands. He quickly signed the bottom line of the paper before moving onto the shift form. Every slot was open.

“You start tomorrow, come in at eight to open the shop.”

“What? I haven’t filled out-“

“I don’t care Mr. Perk, get out of my office.”

“Park.”

“What did I say?”

“Going!”

The sheet still clutched in one fist, he trudged half a mile back to his apartment, pulling at his sweatshirt as it began to snow. Again. “Great.” The mutter reached no one as it appeared in a puff of cold air, solitary pine trees looming over him. Finally he reached the top of the steep hill that led to the clustered apartment buildings, panting as he punched the ‘3’ on the elevator, slumping down to sit on the carpeted square until the metal box dinged.

“Miles, I got a job!” His roommate’s sloppy head popped up from behind a thick textbook as he opened the heavy apartment door, dropping the key back into his pocket.

“I didn’t know we had a McDonald’s here, good job you can finally pay a fifth of the rent with that minimum wage.”

“Shut up, it’s at the wedding dress shop across the road from that French restaurant.”

“Right, Jeremy Blaire owns it, total scumbag. Don’t make me kick you out for supporting an villain, Waylon.”

“I’ll take a bus down to that art store and buy you more notebooks with my first paycheck.”

“ _Fine_.”

Satisfied, he balled up the paper and threw it in the wastebasket, swinging around the kitchen to grab a granola bar from the pile in the pantry and retreating back into his room. A short sigh made it's way from his lips as he fell back on the sheet-less mattress, partially unwrapped bar hanging from his mouth. Something hard dug into his hip, and he reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out the name tag. Squinting, he held it above his head.

'Waylon Perk.'

Perfect.

Waking up to an alarm at 7:45 was harder than he had thought. He sat up with a start, the wrapper of the discarded granola bar falling to the floor in his mad panic. He threw on a ratty t-shirt and a pair of jeans, snatching his poofy winter coat off of a hanger and shouting a goodbye over his shoulder to the slumped over figure of Miles. He offered a limp wave in response, tirelessly working another one of his cases.

Frantically the boy raced down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own sneakers as he rushed not to loose his job on the first day. He must have fell half a million times as he ran down the hill, sliding more than he was walking. Fuck.

The tiny clock read 8:15 as he finally threw open the door, a single tiny bell jingling, marking his demise. Coughing and sputtering he rushed to strip off his coat, flipping the sign at the front of the store to 'Open.' If the rich man didn't kill him first, he was sure his nerves would. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he retrieved the messy tag, pinning it onto his faded shirt. The boy breathed a sigh of relief as no suited men seemed to fly out and swallow him whole, bracing his hands on the cold countertop in front of the cash register. 

"You must be the new model! Oh how lovely, you'll do very nicely. Come over here and get measured, I can't wait to start working with you!"

Waylon nearly jumped out of his skin when the man popped up from behind a rack of bejeweled gowns, a smile stretched across his face, never wavering as he spoke. It took him a few moments to process his words. Model? Get measured? Oh no.

"No, no, no no no. I'm just a cashier." He held up his name tag to show the man, a sheepish grin spreading over his features. However, the man seemed unfazed, pushing racks and boxes aside as he strutted towards the register, his polished black shoes clicking against the checkered linoleum. 

"Mm, potato potato. What size dress do you wear? We'll still measure, but I occasionally consider comfortability." The stranger was leaning over the counter now, one arm supporting him as he smiled up at Waylon and the other fishing a measuring tape out of his vest pocket. "I hate to nag, but that clothing won't do dear."

The boy's face paled. "Ah- hah, sir I'm a _boy_ , I don't wear dresses. Here, I'll show you an I.D, then you'll see-" As he spun around to dig through his coat a stripe of yellow flashed before his eyes and his body was forced to stumble back to press against the cold glass of the counter as a thin strip looped around his waist was jerked. The blond couldn't suppress a small yelp as he felt the hot breath of the man against his neck, teeth gritted as he waited what would happen next. Somehow he could tell the other was still smiling.

"I don't think you looked at the sign close enough, darling. We make _dresses_ here, so dresses you will wear. You have a contract to fulfill my sweet model. Be ready in five minutes, yes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about this AU all day and I couldn't resist.   
> Enjoy this sin (and probably more to come ngl)


	2. Chapter 2

As opposed as he was to parading around in a wedding dress, Waylon quickly got himself untangled from the device, edging around the man and bumping into carts and mannequins as he rushed to lock himself in a dressing room. Disagreeing with a man with arms as big as that- especially when he had easy access to fabric shears seemed more of a death sentence than arriving late to work at a rich business man’s boutique.

Fingers quickly clicking the rusty lock into place, the boy let himself fall back against the peeling wallpaper. If he were to be honest, he had no idea what exactly there was to do to prepare oneself for a dress fitting. Strip? He’d rather chuck himself directly into the nearest lake. Try on one of the rejects still hanging in the stall? No thank you sir. Take deep breaths and hope your brothers never find out? We’ll go with that.

It must have been three minutes at the least when he heard the sharp click of the shoes again, followed shortly by a series of jarring knocks that shook the whole fitting room.

“Ready? We _do_ have all day, but I’m afraid I can’t wait much longer.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Waylon contemplated sulking in the small room all day, that is until the image of the man’s biceps and the tragically thin door swam before his eyes. “Uh- yeah. Yeah just a second.”

“Oh it’s been so long since I’ve had a muse, after Jessie disappeared I didn’t know what to do with myself. You’re going to be beautiful, believe me."

He couldn’t say he shared the enthusiasm. 

A hand hovering over the lock, he said a silent prayer to no one and jerked the door open. Immediately the man's hands were on him, pushing him towards the center of the store in a manner that would have been violent if not for the cheerful chatter above his head. Dresses this, excitement that, something about his bone structure. The man gave him a little shove into the middle of the cleared space, patterns littered over the large desk and spilling from the drawers onto the floor. And then the measuring tape was around his waist again, and then down to his hips, removed for the hollow-to-hem, and finally knocking his arms out of the way to snake around his chest, the strip pulled taught as he measured. The man made a small 'tsk' noise as he read the last measurement, finally moving in front of the boy to write down the numbers in a tiny book.

Cautiously, he cleared his throat. "My name's Waylon." The hunched figure made no indication he had heard, continuing to scribble madly in the tiny book. "Excuse me? What's your-" The stranger held up a finger, not turning around as he worked and the boy fell silent again. It was a few moments until he finished, ending the page with a flourishing sweep of the pen. 

"I'm sorry I'm afraid I forgot formalities in my haste, Eddie Gluskin." He spun around on his heel, taking a step towards him and brushing off the shoulders of the t shirt absentmindedly, more of a habit than anything. "Designer, artist, assistant to beautiful unions of love, whatever you want to call it. And who are you, Waylon?" 

Waylon had to stifle a laugh at the proclamation, it was clear the tailor didn't think little of himself. "Uh, I moved here last spring from Colorado and I've been accepted to study at Berkley next Fall."

Gluskin raised an eyebrow. "And? Modeling experience?"

"Oh, right yeah. None at all, which is why I'm just a cashier, really I should just-" 

And then there was a finger pressed to his lips and that intimidatingly large smile was looming down at him. "Practice makes perfect dear, and there's no time like the present. When it comes does to it, half of it is hip movement." The wink following his coy words sent a shiver down the boy's spine. The hand moved from his lips to his shoulder, guiding him back towards the fitting room. "I'll pick out a few gowns for you to try on, wait here would you? Oh and those will need to go-" The man plucked the thick rimmed glasses from his face, tucking them into his own pocket. "Ah there, now I can see your eyes." 

"Hey-!" Waylon protested, trying in vain to snatch them back. "I can't see without those- please!"

The man's grin only widened, brushing off his attempt to regain the needed accessory like he were a bothersome gnat. "Better for you to stay put. I'll only be a moment darling, don't fret."

The moment the door shut the boy groaned loudly, kicking over a discarded box of bridal veils. Being forced to wear wedding dresses was one thing, but being forced to wear wedding dresses _blind_ was on it's own level of bad karma fuckery. 

He sent up a silent prayer to the god of weddings and well dressed men pleading for no high heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually decides to skip sleep and publishes two chapters in a day.  
> Will our darling hero be forced to follow through with a contract he was dumb enough not to read a sentence of? Find out once I've slept 48 hours.


	3. Chapter 3

To put it simply, the dresses were a fucking nightmare. The meager selection presented proudly by the taller man all donned horrific frills and ruffles, layers and layers of fabric crisscrossing over the torso, extravagantly decorated with pearls and ribbons. Gluskin must have noticed his gaping as the garments were shoved into his arms for he beamed at him, placing heavy hands on his shoulders.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? I can tell you’re just as excited as I to try them on.”

“I’m not wearing this frilly crap.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could catch them, his complexion paling considerably as he felt the grip on his shoulders tighten. “Hah- um, I just meant they’re-“

A remorseful sigh cut off his frantic explanation. “I won’t hold it against you dear, its not your fault you were born like this.”

“Really I.. wait, what?”

“The ruffles hide your- ah, disappointing lack of cleavage. But don’t worry, it’s the 21st century, I wouldn’t be opposed to stuffing if it bothers you so."

Waylon didn’t believe it. “I’m a _boy!”_ He shook off the man’s grip, pushing the gowns back into his rejected embrace. "No, no this was a bad idea, I’ll resign as soon as Blaire comes back, I won’t collect a check, I’ll give it right back, I’ll even mail it to you, first priority UPS I promise just-“ He trailed off as the dresses were thrown down at his feet, no trace of that chilling smile left on the tailor’s features. The air seemed to crackle with electric tension, his wide eyes meeting the pale blues of the other. And then a hand was buried in his shirt and he could feel something crack as his back slammed into the flimsy wall of the fitting room, a strangled cry escaping his lips. If he was scared of the man before, in that moment he was no less than terrified.

“You ungrateful _bitch_ , I’m trying to make you beautiful! Why can’t you see-?!” The words were spat through gritted teeth, his face contorted in a scowl as he held the boy eye level. A growl in his throat, the man took a deep breath, plastering an almost mocking smile onto his face as he struggled to calm himself down. The grip on his shirt tightened as a warning of sorts. "Waylon, I’ve been patient with you, but you must cooperate with me sweetheart. His other hand rose to brush against the ridge of his cheek, as if to comfort him. "Surely you can imagine my epidemic. If there are no charming young beauties showing off my work, how will poor misled brides find me? Do it for them, if not for me.”

Fingers clutched around the man's wrists, knuckles white and feet barely touching the floor, all Waylon could do was bob his head up and down violently. The man's features seemed to soften, slowly loosening his grip and letting him drop back down to the floor with a dull thud. Immediately the boy scurried around him, snatching a handful of the dresses from the creaking floorboards and dashing back to the farthest corner from the man. His chest heaved as he tried to get ahold of his breathing, brow furrowed as he pressed himself against the wall.

"Ah, there's the enthusiasm I was looking for! I'm so happy you've decided to behave, love. I'll leave you to change, but don't forget to show me when you're finished." Once again Gluskin was all smiles and formalities, casting him a tender look before swinging the door shut. Waylon felt like he was going to throw up.

The walls seemed to close in on him as he clutched the pile of ribbons and lace, eyes darting to the door, afraid the man may waltz right back through it. However the tap of expensive dress shoes grew more distant as he waited with baited breath, the sound finally fading into faint clicks. As it seemed, the tailor could in fact keep his word when it suited him.

Slowly he let the fabric drop to the floor, hearing his own breath hitch as he tugged the t-shirt over his head. He stopped a moment to look at his own blurred reflection in the scratched mirror, raising a hand to push around the wavy mess that sat atop his head. 

Fuck it.

Clamping a hand over his eyes, he reached down into the bunches of frilly garments, snatching up the closest handful of expensive cloth he could find. Voting to keep his jeans on for as long as physically possible, he dove straight into the sea of scratchy layers. 

Adorned with row upon row of white lace and stitched meticulously with tiny pearls, the dress wasn't the sort of outfit Waylon would wear to the supermarket. His broad shoulders stood out against the feminine fit of the design, slightly muscled arms looking far out of place beside the pattern. However, Gluskin had been right. The extravagant patterns sewn into the torso drew attention away from his evidently flat chest, instead directing it down towards the curve of his waist. Hands hovering over the fabric as if he was afraid to touch it in case it may spring alive and eat him whole, the boy felt his face acquire a rusty tint. If he had ever felt humiliation akin to the overwhelming dark cloud raining down on his head in that moment, he sure as hell didn't remember it. 

Far too preoccupied by his anxieties, he didn't notice the rapidly approaching footsteps.

"Waylon! Are you ready to show Eddie your dress? Do you need help darling?" The man's sharp and uncomfortably near words made his heart leap into his throat, his hands jumping up to cover himself instinctively. 

Hesitantly, not trusting himself to speak, he edged towards the door, hands shaking as they tugged back the lock, prompting a soft screeching noise to pierce the silence. It hadn't been a second before the door opened right back up again, a beaming tailor stepping through it. 

"Oh dear you're thinner than you look, I'll have to adjust this terribly- oh, silly me!" In a jerking motion the boy was spun around, the forgotten zipper lining the edges of the fabric quickly shoved up. He felt as if he were suffocating. 

"Marvelous, add hair and makeup and you're ready for the isle!" 

Waylon really, _really_ hoped he was speaking figuratively. 

"I'm afraid the photographers from the catalog insist on taking the pictures themselves, so until your first photo shoot we have nothing to do but prepare."

"Catalog? _Photo_ _shoot?_ Hold on-!" 

"Oh yes, you're a model Waylon, models don't hide themselves away in dressing rooms. Now get changed and hop back up to the counter, I'm done with you for today. We have a fitting at 11 and I'm planning on doing business with her, unfortunately I can't have you dressed up _all_ the time."  
  


                                                                                                                                     ---

"He's crazy!"

Miles awoke with a start, a sheet of paper still stuck to his cheek as a loud crash echoed through the small apartment followed shortly by familiar yelling. The old lady directly below would _not_ be happy. "I told you that asshole wouldn't pay any more than minimum wage." He stretched an arm above his head, yawning. "Did you listen? No."

"No no no, not Blaire- the designer, he's insane!" The boy was hysterical, hands buried in his hair as he tried to think, pacing across the creaking wooden boards. "I have to leave- leave Minnesota, he couldn't find me in Wisconsin, no, no one can find shit in Wisconsin, yes!"

Now he was listening. "Hey hey, slow down. What's with this escape plan, what's going on?"

Waylon only shook his head, eyes fixed on the faded paint covering the walls. "You'll laugh at me." 

"Waylon Park, I've lived with you for nine months, if you're in trouble you tell me what the fuck is going on." 

He told him.

He may have laughed. 

" _Miles!"_  

"Sorry, sorry! That's just, wow." He pinched the bridge of his nose, lips still upturned in a ghost of the chuckle that had escaped them moments earlier. "Way, this is the first real job you've had in a year, you can't quit after the first day."

"But-"

"Put on a dress or two, collect a paycheck, put up with this guy until this photo shoot, _then_ ditch. You know you need the money for Berkley."

His roommate covered his face with his hands, falling back on the couch and emitting the loudest groan Miles had heard outside of an adult film. But, he nodded, agreeing with the makeshift plan. 

It was going to be a long couple months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Award to Miles for best friend of the year  
> I stopped 700 times while writing this and asks myself 'hm maybe this is going too far' like one of them isn't a fuckin serial killer in a horror game.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I love how you don't make Eddie so bad in this fic' I'M SORRY
> 
> Basically: Shit goes down and we find out what happened to one of Eddie's previous models

If she ever got out of this, she would never  _ever_  walk down an aisle again. That was the only thought on the girl's mind as the strings of the corset were pulled taught around her ribs, the man's hot breath brushing against her neck. That and she was going to murder this son of a bitch with his own fabric shears the first chance she got. 

They had been at it for hours, much longer than he had ever insisted on. In the darkened tunnel it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, even if he let her anywhere near the windows in his own house. 

At least, she assumed it was his house. 

Down here it was damp and dark and horrible. It looked like an abandoned subway track, but she was never brave enough to ask.

He didn't like questions.

The blindfold was always present, from the moment he led her out of the house, into the car, all the way to nowhere. And then it was whipped off, the man's face looming in front of her, grin stretched from ear to ear like he had a wonderful surprise he just  _couldn't wait_  to show her. She almost wished he kept it on. 

Dress after dress after dress were shoved into her arms, the designer babbling nonstop. He was delusional, a freak, a psycho. She hated him with ever fiber of her being. 

Rough hands slid down her shoulders, and then his mouth was on her neck. Unforgiving fingers jerked her hands behind her back, pulling them up level to the crisscrossing straps. As wet marks were made on her pale skin, her hands were tied behind her back, effectively immobilizing her against whatever effort she could have put up against him. She felt her muscles seize up and spine straighten, jaw clenched in a grimace as the sucking motion stopped, leaving a wet trail of bruises in it's place. 

"You're beautiful, truly I've made a masterpiece." Smooth like velvet, the man's voice echoed around the tunnel, and suddenly his hands were off of her and there was movement behind her she couldn't place, hesitantly she let herself breath a silent sigh of relief. When the villain spoke again he sounded farther away. 

"You're mine, but you're not the one. I couldn't possibly present you to the judges, you don't try hard enough. But it's alright darling, all we have to do now is wait." 

She wasn't so relaxed then. "I'll try harder- please, give me another dress." The man only made a small 'tsk' sound, his tone growing scolding.

"It will only be a moment, don't fret."

"Please please please I promise!" 

"Stand still, whore!" His tone turned harsh, a growl in his voice. 

Eddie heard the train first.

"No one else can have you." He sounded out of breath, his voice traveling further and further.

There was nowhere to run.

"You're my model, my _angel_." 

Her scream was cut off by the impact. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna just throw this mini chapter at y'all because I'm not enough of a sinner to post the first draft lmao. Sorry this took so long! Finals mixed in with the general self disgust I felt while writing this made me put it off.


End file.
